The Lost Art Of Deduction
by Hipster Blood Ritual
Summary: Mycroft was perfectly happy in the library reading his precious books. And he thought that Mummy and Papa were happy with him. So why was Sherlock born? What is the point of Sherlock? Kidfic, in Mycroft's perspective. Rated K for now.
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft knew there was something wrong with Mummy. He could see it in the way she moved, and how she didn't eat and how she was sick every morning.

He was sickeningly panicked. He'd read enough books like The Hot Zone to know of the symptoms of a dangerous disease. So he carefully distanced himself from her and began researching what was wrong with her.

So when his results showed she was pregnant, he was slightly disappointed that it wasn't something more dramatic.

And he really wasn't sure if he wanted her to have another kid. What was wrong with just him?

Quite a lot, he realized, a bit later, after pondering the question. To the outside observer, he was the epitome of unnatural.

Mummy probably wanted a kid she could relate to. She certainly couldn't relate to Mycroft. He distanced himself from her and his father. Books were his constant companion.

Mummy probably hoped the new baby would be a perfectly average blonde little girl who cared for shopping and doing hair.

But what would happen to him then? If Mummy and Papa had the perfect daughter to care for, what would they do with their unnatural son?

He was struck with a slightly appealing image of living in the dark tower library like a bat, forgotten by everyone, plotting his revenge on the world.

This thought took up his imagination for a minute, before his rational side told him he would most likely be sent off to boarding school.

Dull, but quite predictable. He wondered how old other children were when they were sent off to school.

Was seven an acceptable age for that to happen? Should he pack soon? How long did babies take to come?

He wondered and worried for the rest of the day.

After Mummy had come and tucked him in and turned the lights off, he stepped quietly out of bed and switched the lights back on.

He pulled his suitcase from under the bed and put a few choice garments into it. When the time came, he was going to be ready. Who knew how fast babies would come out.

Mycroft pushed the case back under his bed. Preparedness was key.

He hoped he'd like school.

**A/N  
>...Of course I'm not starting a new fic when I have three others to finish...<strong>

**Okay, I'm sorry. I've been wanting to write this fic since I started my account. So now I am. And I have an annoying case of writer's block, where all I want to write is school stuff. Is that depressing or what?**

**Anyway, is a kidfic okay here? I was a little unsure. But I hope you all like it!  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

It was finally here.

Mycroft balanced on his tiptoes to peer over his father's arm.

Soft black curls framed an angular face. Bright blue eyes looked up at Mycroft with curiosity.

"His name is Sherlock." Mummy said from the bed. "Sherlock Holmes."

Mycroft's brown eyes, narrowed in suspicion, stared right into Sherlock's unflinching blue.

He wasn't sure if he should hate Sherlock or not.

He had hated him the whole time he was in Mummy's belly. The entire nine months, with almost no attention. Even on his birthday.

But there was something about Sherlock that made Mycroft not hate him anymore.

Mycroft decided to put off hating him until he learned to talk. If Sherlock ended up being intelligent, Mycroft would be inclined to like him.

Sherlock was transferred back to Mummy's arms, and Mycroft found himself crawling up on the bed to keep watching his little brother.

"Do you want to hold him?" Mummy asked Mycroft.

With a little intake of breath, Mycroft nodded. Mummy placed the little bundle into his arms.

Oh.

Sherlock felt as light and as fragile as the carefully blown Easter eggs. Mycroft's little arms reached awkwardly but gently around his brother. He was so warm, Mycroft realized. And he could feel him breathing. Like a little bird.

Mummy smiled. "My two beautiful boys."

Mycroft dared not move while he was holding such a fragile thing. Definitely not hating such a perfect thing.

Sherlock stared at him the whole time. Mycroft kept a careful note of what Sherlock did. He found that he had a peculiar habit of crinkling his nose. Without half realizing it, Mycroft squished his nose up in imitation. He was rewarded with a a toothless smile.

"He smiled at me!"

Mummy laughed. "He's too little to smile, Mycroft. He's only a newborn."

"But he did!" Mycroft turned to Mummy. "Really!"

She kept smiling. "Okay, maybe he did."

Mycroft glared back down at Sherlock. He was going to make Sherlock smile every day now. Maybe even laugh, just to spite stupid adults who refused to believe him.

Sherlock smiled again at Mycroft's glare. Apparently it was funny. Mycroft glared harder.

Sherlock smiled bigger.

But, of course, when Mycroft looked up in triumph, all the adults had missed it.

**A/N  
>I<strong>**quite****liked****this****one.****I****felt****like****it****was****a****bit****weak****though...****Maybe****I****can****fix****it...**

***Goes****off****with****fine-tooth****comb****of****perfection***

**Hope****you****like****it!****I'm****sorry****the****chapters****are****so****short...**


	3. Chapter 3

"Here."

Mycroft watched his mother hand a four-year-old Sherlock a card.

"What does that say?" She asked him.

Sherlock scrunched up his nose. "Sit?"

"Noo." She smiled at him. "Sound out the letters."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Sherlock was careful not to let anyone see him, but Mycroft was good at spying. So he, at least, knew Sherlock wiled away much of his time absorbed in thick chapter books.

Being the deducer he was, it was interesting for Mycroft to note that the books Sherlock read were not educational. They were pages and pages of fictitious fluff. All about people and relationships and travelling and working.

Not that Sherlock didn't enjoy non-fiction. Mycroft had spotted him once or twice with a treatise on poisons or geology open on his lap.

But the question still stood.

Why was Sherlock pretending he was stupid?

Or, Mycroft paused, trying to rephrase his thoughts. _Average. _Why was Sherlock pretending he was _average?_

Was it because he was embarrassed? Mycroft really doubted it. He'd seen Sherlock be quietly brilliant when he thought no one was watching.

Was it because he thought he was alone in his smartness? No, that would be impossible. He'd spent his entire life in the same house with Mycroft. Mycroft knew an hour with himself would be more than enough time to realize that he was a bit above average. To say the least.

But, really. Why would a four-year old Sherlock pretend he was totally normal to everyone?

Mycroft mulled over the question all day while he pretended to read. He was sitting in his favourite chair when Sherlock came quietly into the library.

"What's up with you?" Mycroft was not one to skirt around the point of things. Well, he would when it was in his best interests to. Right now it wasn't. He needed to know.

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft. "What do you mean?"

"Stop pretending." Mycroft frowned. "You know exactly what I mean."

Still, Sherlock avoided the question. "What are you talking about?"

"Why are you pretending you're stupid?"

"I'm not stupid." Sherlock looked up at his brother, eyes wide in shock. His brother had _never _called him names before.

Mycroft dropped his book and knelt on the floor beside Sherlock. "I didn't say that."


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock looked up at his brother. "What do you mean?"

Mycroft frowned. "Sherlock, you're brilliant. You're almost as smart as me. So why are you pretending you're not?"

Sherlock looked surprised. "Because that's what everyone wants me to be."

Mycroft's heart cracked. "What?"

"No one wants me to be smart." Sherlock looked at his feet. "Everyone will hate me if I'm smart."

"Who told you that?" Mycroft was ready to slowly murder whoever those words had come from.

"No one _told _me." Sherlock looked up at Mycroft, his eyes filled with something unspeakable. "I can see it."

Mycroft reached for his brother's hand. "You can see how people feel?"

Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "Is that bad? If it's bad, then I can't."

Mycroft's heart broke a little more. "Of course it's not bad. Why would it be bad?"

"Because I'm not supposed to be able to do it." Sherlock's small hand's clenched. "You're the only one who's supposed to be smart. And Mummy _told _that to me."

"She told you that you're not supposed to be smart."

"She told me that no one could be as smart as you, so no one should even try." Sherlock frowned more. "And that's a different way of saying that I'm not allowed to be smart."

"Sherlock." Mycroft grabbed his brother's other hand. "I'm going to go talk to Mummy. You're going to stay in here and read, okay?"

"Read what?" Sherlock's eyes flicked to the shelf of mystery novels. "I can't read."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're not the only person who notices stuff, okay? But I'll leave first, and then you can read."

Sherlock smiled then. "Okay."

"I'll figure this out." Mycroft gave his brother a hug. "We're going to both be smart."

Mummy was in the living room, as per usual. She was reading a pamphlet on homeschooling.

"Is that for Sherlock?" Mycroft stepped into the room. "He might need it."

"Mycroft, darling." Mummy put aside the paper and held out her arms.

Mycroft allowed himself to be folded into an embrace. He needed to take this carefully.

"Is it for Sherlock?" Mycroft asked again, once seated comfortably on the couch.

"Of course not." Mummy looked amused. "He's going to go to school. He'll benefit from school."

This was a switch.

"You're going to home school _me?" _Mycroft was aghast. "What?"

"What did you think?" Mummy asked him. "Sherlock needs school. I was going to homeschool both of you, but then I realized Sherlock doesn't need a special education like you do. He needs to learn everything you already know." She smiled. "Mycroft, my little genius."

"But what if I want to go to school?"

Mycroft hadn't really thought about it, like, at all, but now that he did, school didn't seem like such a bad idea. For him at least.

Sherlock was too fragile for school. He was too small, too perfect to be ruined in that horrible institution.

But Mycroft decided he would enjoy school. He needed to get caught up on social norms of the twentieth century.

"What do you mean, you want to go to school?" Mummy brought him back to reality. "School will be no help at all for you."

"Actually, I think it might be." His parents always listened to him.

Mummy sighed. "Well, if you think so."

Mycroft basked in his victory for a second, before getting on with the point. "I need to talk to you about Sherlock though."

Mummy frowned. "Yes, I know he can't quite keep up with you. But you do need to learn that you will never meet anyone who is as smart as you, Mycroft."

This was infuriating. "Actually, he can keep up with me rather well." Mycroft retorted. "He's quite clever."

"He pretends to be." Mummy smiled. "But he can't even read yet."

Suddenly, Mycroft understood. His mother had completely convinced herself that Sherlock was normal. She didn't _want _another kid to be smart like Mycroft. She realized that Sherlock was brilliant, and had blocked it out of her mind.

This was not going to work.

"Okay." Mycroft backed down. "I'm gonna go read some more."

He made his way back to the library, his mind churning through plans and ideas. How was he going to make Mummy realize or admit to herself that Sherlock was smart? If she kept telling Sherlock that he wasn't, he would withdraw further into himself, which~

He was struck by the relevance of the words "a vicious circle".

Sherlock looked up when Mycroft entered the library. He gasped and stuffed the book he was reading behind him.

Mycroft sighed. How was he going to fix this?

**A/N**

**Well, I posted the wrong chapter three. Luckily, it turned out to be the right chapter three anyway, because it gave me a slight plot idea.**

**Maybe not, I don't know. The only thing that was awful was that I hadn't looked over for mistakes, so the entire chapter's rife with them. UGH.**

**Anyway, this chapter should be slightly better.**


	5. Chapter 5

"What was it like?" Sherlock asked gleefully. "What happened?"

"It was actually really great." Mycroft said, for the benefit of the adults in the room. "Do you want to come help me with my homework?"

"Sure!" Sherlock tagged so closely behind Mycroft as they went upstairs that Mycroft was sure his shoes would be scuffed.

"How bad was it, really?" Sherlock asked as Mycroft opened his binders.

"It was completely boring." Mycroft sighed. "What's the opposite of subtraction?"

"Addition." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You can take other classes, right?"

"Excellent." Mycroft turned to the next problem. It wasn't like _he _actually needed the knowledge. "And I can't take better classes. That's how school works."

"That's stupid." Sherlock lay down on the carpeted floor. "You're so smart."

"You're smart too." Mycroft reassured his brother, trying to sound reassuring. Even to himself his voice sounded weak.

Sherlock turned his head to smile at his brother. "I really can read."

Mycroft grinned. "I know."

"You knew all of the time." Sherlock accused.

Mycroft sighed. "Yes."

But now Sherlock didn't seem to be hiding anymore. At least from his brother.

Sherlock sat up again. "Why are you allowed to be smart?"

"What?"

"Why is Mummy happy that you're smart, but won't let me read anything?"

"She doesn't let you read?" This was new.

"She just says I should stop pretending." Sherlock grimaced. "She says that school will teach me how to read and write, and I should only be playing fun games because I'm so little."

That didn't make any sense. Why would Mummy say all that to Sherlock if she expected him _not _to understand him? Well, unless Sherlock was eavesdropping, which the Holmes brothers weren't exactly strangers to.

"Listen, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed. "I'm going to figure this out. I promise. I'll always figure everything out. The rest of the world are idiots and we're the only smart ones. I can always think of something. You and me both."

Sherlock giggled. "I'm smart like you, then?"

"You'll probably be smarter than me." Mycroft grinned. "Here, why don't you do the rest of my homework?"

Sherlock grimaced at the papers. "Can't we go play something?"

"Sure." Mycroft smiled. "What do you want to play?"

"Explorers." Sherlock grinned. "I was out in the garden today and I saw a dead fish. And there were spider webs under the porch. And a birds nest in the apple tree."

"Shall we read about them first?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head. "That would be boring. We need to go out and see things and touch them and smell them. That way we get the information first-hand." He grinned with his new knowledge.

"Okay!" Mycroft pushed himself off the floor. "Allons-y!"

Sherlock laughed happily and the two boys ran out of the room and out of the house, leaving homework and problems out of mind, at least for the moment.

**A/N**

**Record word count last chapter. Now I'm back to the normal 400ish.**

**I hope y'all are still enjoying it.**

**I am still continuously feeling like there's no plot.**

**Maybe**** I'm fated to just write kid!fluff...**


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